The Fourth Time
by CycloneT
Summary: The first time she came to him it was hard and fast, and if it wasn’t exactly what she’d bargained for then she never let on. Goren/Eames
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: The Fourth Time  
AUTHOR: Cyclone  
RATING: M, maybe MA depending on how strict FF is.  
KEYWORDS: Goren/Eames  
SPOILERS: none  
SUMMARY: The first time she came to him it was hard and fast, and if it wasn t exactly what she d bargained for then she never let on.  
DISCLAIMER: I believe Dick Wolf and Co. retain ownership of everything L&Oish.  
NOTES: It s been a while. Be gentle or not.

XxX

The first time she came to him it was hard and fast, and if it wasn't exactly what she'd bargained for then she never let on. She left immediately after, and if it hadn't been for the heady perfume of sex that lingered in the air, then he would have thought he'd imagined the whole thing.

The second time she was just as aggressive, just as impatient as the first, but he wanted her on his terms. So he countered every move, prolonged every attack, and in the end they both exorcised some demons that needed exorcising. After, as he watched from the bed as she pulled her clothes back on, she told him that it couldn't happen again. He agreed, because he knew that sex, no matter how good, just complicated things, and he needed her more in his day to day life than he did in his bed. She left with a negligent 'see you tomorrow' tossed over her shoulder, and he drifted to sleep with the scent of her still on his sheets.

The third time was an accident and didn't really count, because they'd almost died and the need to do _something_ to reaffirm that they hadn't was stronger than their previous agreement. So they'd done each other on the floor of his apartment, and in the morning he'd woken curled up against the sofa covered by a blanket from his bed, with bruised knees and a stiff back. And she was gone.

The fourth time she was drunk, and he didn't want her. So she left, but not before mocking him with a few pointed barbs pertaining to both him and his ability in bed, that almost, but not quite, hid the rejection in her eyes. He tried to explain to her that he didn't want alcohol to be the crutch that fuelled their relationship, but he stumbled over the words and she hadn't wanted to hear them, anyway. And then he realised that despite all his best efforts to separate the sex from everything else, he'd failed. Because that was the first time that he'd defined what they were doing as a relationship.

After that, she didn't come again, and he couldn't quite summon the courage to go to her. So they both – as far as he knew – re-entered the world of celibacy while pretending that they'd never left it. It ate at him though, and he started wondering if maybe, despite everything, they could have the sex without it screwing up the day to day stuff. If they worked at it, _really_ worked at it, then surely they could combine the two so that neither the job nor anything else suffered. He tried to talk to her about it but she shut him down, and he didn't want to upset the uneasy status quo that had taken root between them, so in the end he followed her lead. If, at night, she remembered the same things that kept him awake, she didn't let on, and neither did he.

Then she started pulling away, and because she wouldn't or couldn't talk to him, he couldn't figure out how to get her back. Over the years they'd fostered a partnership, then a sometimes-friendship, and even though there'd been trials and tribulations, they'd eventually grown into something that encompassed more than the conventional sense of the word. Before that first time had turned everything on its side, they'd been in limbo, floating between friendship and something more, and he, for one, had enjoyed the easy intimacy of that place.

Until she'd come to him and opened his eyes to the possibility of more. That was why, the second time, he hadn't wanted wham-bam-thank you-ma'am (sir?) sex. He'd wanted to show her that they could be more than that, and he thought that she'd understood. The third time didn't really count, except that she'd taken the time to cover him up before she left, and that had to mean something. But then she'd ruined everything. He wasn't going to be used, even by her, even if it meant losing whatever it was that was between them. If all she wanted was random, drunken sex then she wasn't going to get it from him. He wanted her to know that she was with _him_, that _he_ was the one who was above her, surrounding her, inside her. He wanted to be more to her than just a body and she should have known that.

But she didn't. And as the days rolled into weeks, he couldn't help but think that maybe he had to shoulder some of the blame for that. He'd just gone along with whatever rules she'd set, never once testing the boundaries or giving her anything in return to let her know that she _mattered_. If he hadn't been so quick in his rejection; if he'd been able to verbalise what he was feeling before she cut him to shreds, if her judgement hadn't been clouded – _if, if if_ – then maybe, just maybe, things might have turned out differently.

That was a bitter pill to swallow, but he choked it down because at least he still had her in his life. They'd weathered bad times before and always managed to get back on track, and he couldn't see why this time would be any different. So he waited and watched, and waited some more, and couldn't help but notice that her eyes were always guarded, and that the wall that she'd built was slowly being reinforced a little more each day. He didn't know how to chip away at it, and he still didn't know how to talk to her about _anything_, and it hurt like hell that while she might want him for a meaningless roll in the sack, that was all she wanted.

So he gave up. If she didn't want him – _all_ of him – then he didn't care anymore. They just weren't the 'happily-ever-after' kind of people, and he stopped trying to make them fit into that mould. In the end they were just two more people who made the mistake of thinking they could separate sex from everything else, and failed.

Except. His heart wanted more. His heart didn't care about the cold hard facts, it wanted happily ever after. With her. So he decided to try one more time.

He grabbed his coat and headed for her house, and hoped that he hadn't left it too late. Twenty minutes later he was pounding on her door. We need to talk, he called through the wood. Alex? Please?


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: The Fourth Time  
AUTHOR: Cyclone  
RATING: T  
KEYWORDS: Goren/Eames  
SPOILERS: Blind Spot  
WARNINGS: References to sex  
SUMMARY: The first time she went to him it was hard and fast, and if it wasn t exactly what he'd wanted for them then he never let on.  
DISCLAIMER: I believe Dick Wolf and Co. retain ownership of everything L&Oish.  
NOTES: It's been a while. Be gentle - or not.

XxX

The first time she went to him it was hard and fast, and if it wasn't exactly what he'd wanted for them then he never let on. She left immediately after, terrified because the line she swore she would never cross had proved to be so easily breached.

The second time she was just as aggressive, just as impatient as the first, but he wanted to play. So he took her to the edge time and time again, refused her release, teased and cajoled and drove her near mad with anticipation, and she learned that you didn't toy with him and walk away unscathed. She left his bed, spent and drained, with a delicious ache that came from being well and truly fucked, and knew that she couldn't play this game with him anymore or it would destroy her. So she told him that it couldn't happen again, and he'd agreed so easily that after she'd recovered from feeling insulted, she knew she'd made the right decision.

The third time was an accident and didn't really count, except that in the end it mattered more than the first two times put together. After, she'd tried to leave, but he'd held onto her and peppered her neck with kisses while murmuring _just a few more minutes _overand over again, and she might have been distracted by what his fingers started doing, but she really couldn't see the harm. So she'd allowed herself to relax and enjoy just being with him because he was so warm and smelled so good and the shadows that haunted him had left his eyes, and she'd drifted off to sleep. She'd woken hours later wrapped in his arms, shivering, because as big as he was he still couldn't cover all of her, and knew she had to get out. She gathered her clothes and dressed, and was about to leave him there on the floor, naked except for a pillow that had fallen from the couch, when something stopped her. She walked into his bedroom, got a blanket from the bed and draped it over him. Her fingers reached out to smooth his hair before she realised what they were doing, and she snatched them back guiltily. She was not going to go down that road; she was smarter than that and it didn't matter how tussled his hair was or how soft his lips were, she was not going to linger in his apartment and chance him waking up and finding her still there like a lovesick puppy. So she left, and didn't look back once.

The fourth time he ripped her heart out, because he didn't want her. She'd woken in a lather of sweat with a scream caught in her throat, terrified that this time she wouldn't be able to hold them in, that this time they'd bubble to the surface and she'd be the one tortured and mutilated on that work table. She'd had a couple of shots of bourbon to steel her nerves, and then gone to him because he was the only one she trusted enough to be so vulnerable around. She hadn't even been thinking about sex, not really, not after the nightmare that still hadn't quite left her when she arrived at his apartment. What she'd wanted, what she'd needed, was for him to put his arms around her and just let her be. She'd wanted the comfort she knew he could give simply by holding her and telling her that she was safe. But he wouldn't even touch her; he kept her at arms length and told her to go home, and she couldn't believe her ears because he was supposed to be some kind of genius at reading people and there she was, falling apart, and he didn't even notice.

She hadn't slept for the rest of the night, and the next morning when she saw him at his desk she couldn't even look at him without her heart hurting. He'd hurt her before, plenty of times, and they both knew that it was only on the strength of their partnership that she'd been able to forgive him. She didn't think that she could do that this time. This time the hurt went too deep, was too personal, and although she realised that that was partly her own fault for breaking her rule and letting him get under her skin, it didn't change the fact that when all the cards were laid on the table, she had needed him and he had pushed her away.

With time, things eventually settled down. She tried to block out all thoughts of him that weren't strictly related to the job, but it wasn't easy. He kept trying to talk about _them_, but she was still feeling too bruised and betrayed to hear anything he had to say. So she cut him off and walked away, and after a while he stopped trying. That, more than anything else, told her that whatever they'd been doing was done and over.

Except. It didn't feel done and over though, and that was the problem. It felt like something that had been poisoned and cut down before it had even had a chance to take root. It felt like unfinished business, but she didn't know how to finish it without breaking her heart into a million pieces. They couldn't go on as they were, not if they wanted to retain their working relationship, but she didn't know how to separate who they were from what they'd done and move on like he had.

That was why, the first time he came to her, she wasn't going to let him in. But the way he said her name; the way his voice wavered and almost broke gave her pause. So she opened the door, and late that night, after they'd said all the words that needed to be said, and straightened everything out that needed to be straightened, they went to bed and lay the foundation for a happily ever after they could both live with.

End


End file.
